


In which Phil has too many sticky notes and Dan likes to shout memes in Biology class

by otfuckingp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Memes, Pining, flirting with sticky notes, idk man theres not a lot to tag here, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otfuckingp/pseuds/otfuckingp
Summary: Absentmindedly, Phil begins picking at the block of sticky notes sat at the corner of his desk. He runs his thumbnail up the edge, watching the colors blur into one another as the papers fan out together. He stares at the board. Stares at the back of Dan’s head. Stares at the quail tank across the room. Slowly, an idea formulates.Deliberately, precariously, Phil leans forward across his desk and attaches the note to the back of Dan’s omnipresent black hoodie. Dan makes no acknowledgement of Phil’s existence, as usual. Phil leans back, a triumphant smile gracing his lips. Silently, PJ reaches a fist out across the aisle. Phil doesn’t take his eyes off the sticky note, but returns the fist bump.





	

Phil isn’t entirely sure why he has so many sticky notes. He knows he likes the colors, likes the way they’re not permanent, likes that he can take notes in his Literature class without feeling bad for damaging the books. There’s also the immense satisfaction of shredding a sticky note with an important deadline on it after completing said deadline. He remembers asking his mom to buy him some one night after he’d finished Wuthering Heights, and the next day came home from school to find several different packets of every size, color, and shape imaginable laying on his desk. It spiraled out of control from there. He now has several hanging on his mirror, next to his calendar, in his locker, in his journals, his handwriting reminding him _water the plants when you get home_ or _Chem test Fri—study u ass_ or even just _u got this nerd_. It’s oddly comforting. Phil finds that more often than not he can find a use for a sticky note, and carries them to all his classes.

~~~

When Dan Howell shouts another pointless meme in Biology class, nobody is surprised. It happens with surprising regularity; the teacher will make an offhanded joke and Dan will literally yell the word ‘meme’ across the classroom, or somehow manage to bring completely unrelated memes into the classroom and get away with it. Like the time he did a presentation on amphibians and literally no one was surprised when “breeds of Pepe and Kermit the Frog” took up an entire six slides. One memorable time, Dan’s phone randomly started blaring _All Star_ in the middle of a lecture _,_ and instead of complaining, people actually started singing along and shuffling about in their seats. Dan, filled with his usual bravado, actually went to answer the call in the middle of class, and probably would have if the teacher hadn’t intervened. The next day, there were stars all over the tops of the class worksheets.

Nobody minds Dan’s memes, not really. It’s a break from the never-ending hell of Mitosis vs Meiosis, and his fellow students are all too happy to go along with it. Even the teacher, who at the beginning of the year had actually been angry and disapproving but is now just quietly disdainful, finds it entertaining. He would never admit to it, but he doesn’t even mind the way his name has been substituted from Mr. Williams to Mr. Memes, even if he has no idea how it happened. And he only minds a _little bit_ when Dan insists on naming one of the class pets Meme.

“But sir, there are _eight of them!_ Why can’t I name one?” Dan was squatting on his chair, practically bouncing out of his seat with excitement. _This is the best idea I’ve had all year._

The teacher looks as if he’s trying desperately hard not to laugh. “Because you’re going to name it something ridiculous, and these quails are basically my children.” Several people titter.

Dan stands slightly higher, swiveling in his seat quickly as he counts. “There are 32 students in here. If three people agree with me, 1/8 of the class named the quail, and it’s fair.” Abruptly, he stands on the desk, thrusts his hand into the air, and shouts, “Hands up, who wants to name the quail Meme?”

Several students groan. A couple laugh, one gets their phone out to take a video. One mutters “I’m surprised you didn’t want to name it Shrek.”

This gives Dan pause. His hand drops, and he screws his face up in deep concentration. After a couple of seconds, during which the teacher makes absolutely no move to get him off the desk, he declares, “Nope, still like Meme better. C’mon guys, someone help me name this quail!”

To nobody’s surprise, Chris’ hand shoots into the air to join Dan’s. Chris had only been slightly less enthusiastic than Dan about memes over the year. They’re meme buddies, apparently. (It’s been written at the top of every group project they’ve done. They’re probably responsible for the sharp decline in group projects over the year. Again, nobody minds). They’ve been a fair nuisance over the course of the year, the two of them. Idly, the teacher wonders why he’s never moved their seats apart.

After Chris begins chanting _“Meme the Quail, Meme the Quail”_ while drumming on his desk, any hope of order is lost. The vote passes amid raucous laughter and shouting. Several start debating if it would make a difference to name the quail Dan. It seems that Dan’s enthusiasm about memes has, in a way, become the class meme. He loves it. _Meta._

~~

Meme the Quail is properly christened by Dan running across the room, choosing a quail, tapping the glass in front of it and loudly proclaiming “Meme!”  Dan then returns to his chair, having sensed the teacher’s waning patience. The teacher resumes droning on about chromosomes. He plops into his seat in front of Phil, high-fives Chris, and begins taking notes.

Phil stares at the seat in front of him, wondering what on Earth goes on in that boy’s head. How on Earth he can manage to get away with things that would get anyone else into detention. (He supposes it probably has something to do with how well he does in class. Phil’s seen his test scores. The boy is smart). How on earth Dan seems to radiate bravado and make people laugh over jokes that the internet refused to find funny months ago, now that remains a mystery.

Absentmindedly, Phil begins picking at the block of sticky notes sat at the corner of his desk. He runs his thumbnail up the edge, watching the colors blur into one another as the papers fan out together. He stares at the board. Stares at the back of Dan’s head. Stares at the quail tank across the room. Slowly, an idea formulates. He peels apart the rainbow block, selects a green sticky note (the meme color, Dan would say) and begins to doodle. The word takes shape quickly; “MEME” is scrawled in big, blocky letters and shaded using Phil’s moderate art skills.

Phil turns slightly to his left, catching PJ’s eye. He shows him the sticky note and nods his head in Dan’s direction, earning a barely concealed snort. Deliberately, precariously, Phil leans forward across his desk and attaches the paper to the back of Dan’s omnipresent black hoodie. Dan makes no acknowledgement of Phil’s existence, as usual. Phil leans back, a triumphant smile gracing his lips. Silently, PJ reaches a fist out across the aisle. Phil doesn’t take his eyes off the sticky note, but returns the fist bump.

~~

It takes a surprisingly long time for Dan to notice the sticky note. Phil, naturally, makes no move to alert Dan, and neither does PJ. The surprising part, however, is that the rest of the student body seems to be in on the joke. It isn’t until two hours later, when a good deal of snickering has taken place behind Howell’s back and they are now sat in Maths, that the note finally falls off Dan’s hoodie and onto the floor. The girl sitting behind him (Phil thinks her name is Dodie) notices it fall, picks it up, and connects the dots. All the way across the room, Phil’s palms start sweating, his heart beating arhythmically. He hadn’t considered this part. The part where after four years of Phil’s silent pining, a sticky note was going to force Dan Howell to notice Phil Lester.

Dodie taps Dan’s shoulder, and Dan spins around. Phil is too far away to hear the exchange, but he doesn’t miss a millisecond of it. Dodie hands over the note, smiling brightly. Dan reads it. Phil thinks he might run out screaming. At first, Dan’s brow is furrowed; he’s confused. Then, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, his expression clears. Phil definitely doesn’t miss a millisecond when Dan turns, looks directly at him, and flashes a dazzling grin.

~~

The next day, Phil places another sticky note on Dan’s hoodie in Biology class. This time, he presses a little harder, making sure Dan feels it. Today’s note is a rough doodle of Meme the Quail, with the word Shrek written below, crossed out, and replaced with Meme. As soon as Phil places it, Dan’s hand scrabbles at his hood, trying to pick it off. He doesn’t turn round, though. Instead, Phil watches as Dan’s head bows as he reads, then his shoulders shake slightly (Phil hopes he’s laughing at the joke, not Phil himself). He presumes that’s the end of the day’s interaction, content to spend the entire day buzzing over _Dan Howell laughed at a joke I made omg omg omg_. Phil focuses his attention back on the board.

It seems Dan has other plans. It isn’t two minutes before the sticky note lands back on Phil’s desk. The only discernable difference is a small arrow pointing at the top corner. It takes Phil an embarrassingly long time of puzzling before he realizes _oh, I’m supposed to flip it over._ On the back is an uneven doodle of a triangle with a circle in the middle. The only real hint as to what it is is the word ILLUMINATI scrawled below it. Phil grins.

He scratches a top hat and arms onto the triangle, writes _Bill Cypher_ below it, and attaches the note to Dan’s hoodie once more. As he watches Dan’s hands scrabble for the note, Phil idly wonders what on Earth they’re doing. He realizes he doesn’t much care; this is more interaction than he’s ever had with Dan Howell, and he’s willing to take what he can get.

The next hour passes in a flurry of clumsily drawn memes, cartoon characters, and no less than ten sticky notes. Each time one fills up, Phil peels a different color off the block and starts anew. There’s now a little pile of sticky notes gathered on the corner of his desk. He idly wonders if it’s weird that he wants to save them. (He does it anyway).

When the bell rings, Phil doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Probably some form of acknowledgement from the boy who he’d spent the last hour talking (is it talking?) _memeing_ with. He makes no move to initiate the conversation himself, though, instead waits for the infinitely more social Dan to do it. His heart falls to his feet when Dan rises fluidly from his chair, hooks an arm around Chris’ neck, and disappears from the room without so much as a backward glance.

Phil shuffles his papers around, suddenly less enthusiastic about—well, everything. He shoves his worksheets into a folder, crumpling several in the process. He picks up the little pile of sticky notes and tosses them arbitrarily into his bag, hoping they crumple at the bottom and he never has to see them again.

Phil turns abruptly at the small cough behind him. He’d been too engrossed in his general hatred of the world to remember that PJ was still standing there, waiting to walk to fourth period Creative Writing with him, like they did every day. Phil nearly breaks down at the expression on PJ’s face; it’s the kind of sympathetic that hurts like a knife to the ribs. _Of course, he’s been watching me giggle at everything Howell wrote down for the last hour. He probably saw Dan’s face the whole time too. Was he confused? Disgusted? Irritated? I don’t want to know_ , Phil thinks.

PJ doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms and waits for Phil to dive right in. Which he does, eternally grateful to have such an understanding friend. PJ rests his chin atop Phil’s head (which is more difficult than it sounds--the boy is a fucking beanpole) and whispers “Boys are stupid. Don’t worry about it.” This sentence is punctuated by a ruffle of Phil’s hair.

PJ says nothing more, just loops his arm through Phil’s and drags him off to Creative Writing before they’re late.

~~

The next day, Phil doesn’t put any sticky notes on Dan’s hoodie. The black fabric sits mere inches from his face, taunting him. But between the supportive glances PJ keeps throwing him, and the fact that Phil _really fucking needs to pass this test,_ Phil manages not to. At least, that’s the plan. They’re about three quarters of the way through class when it happens. Phil is bent over a worksheet, effectively blocking out the boy in front of him, when a crumpled ball of paper lands on his desk, nearly hitting him in the head. He unrolls it to read:

Sorry, don’t own any fancy sticky notes like you

Is everything ok?

No notes today?

D-slice

It takes a surprising amount of effort for Phil not to chuckle at “D-Slice”. He looks up, just catching a hint of wide, concerned eyes peering at him over a black-clothed shoulder before Dan’s head whips back around.

Phil can’t stop the wide grin forming as he rereads the note. He doesn’t even really know how to articulate it, it’s not all _that_ important anyway. It’s likely that Dan’s just bored and likes sticky notes better than he likes Biology. But then again, Dan had been worried. Phil had seen it in his eyes just seconds ago; _Dan cared._ At least a little bit. The thought is enough to keep that smile plastered to his face for the rest of class. And if the teacher thinks it’s weird that Phil is so smiley over nutrient cycles, well, he doesn’t comment.

Phil is, however, stubborn, and so doesn’t pass any sticky notes for the rest of the lesson. He’s still annoyed at Dan for snubbing him yesterday, and wants to convey that.

This stubbornness doesn’t prevent him from scribbling a hasty _everything’s fine_ on the back of the piece of paper, dropping it on Dan’s desk, and hastily sweeping out of the room before Dan can react. He’s well aware that that reaction doesn’t look _at all_ fine, but he doesn’t care too much. Melodrama is appropriate in certain situations, and Phil thinks it’s especially appropriate when dealing with the boy who likes shouting about memes.

~~

The next day, Phil is barely in his seat when a bright yellow note lands on his desk, reading:

Cmon Im suffering from meme deficiency here!

Don’t deprive me for another day

D-slice

Below it is doodled a really shaky looking Pepe and wow, Dan really isn’t an artist. But he’s also kind of adorable and Phil’s had enough of being stubborn, not when Dan is so clearly invested in talking to him. It’s not anything like what Phil’s dreamed about, not yet, but hey its better than nothing. So Phil digs out a hot pink sticky note, draws a Doge on it, writes _so meme_ below it, and attaches it to the back of Dan’s hoodie.

He’s barely done pressing it in place when Dan’s hand shoots around to grab at it, brushing Phil’s in the process. Phil damn near melts at the touch, and has to go on pretending that he’s a) paying attention to Biology, b) straight. He pretty much fails at both, and thanks his lucky stars that Dan sits in front of him.

It’s barely half a second later that the note lands back on his desk. On the flipside is a set of scrawled lyrics which he _supposes_ can be a meme with how much everyone used to hate it:

“This is crazy, but here’s my number, call me maybe?”

By the time Phil’s properly processed what that _means_ and starts looking for a phone number somewhere on the note, Dan is spun around in his chair, holding another note out to Phil, his eyes big and afraid.

Phil doesn’t hesitate before he picks up another sticky, this one blue, scribbles his number and the word _definitely_ on it, handing it to Dan.

~~

That night, Phil is in the middle of an English essay when his phone chimes.  He doesn’t even need to look at the number to know who’s sent him a picture of a Shrek.

                                                                

               


End file.
